


Lion Taming

by reavers



Category: Kraftwerk (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 03:35:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4419632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reavers/pseuds/reavers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gratuitous Kraftwerk smut. No one asked for it, and now it's here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lion Taming

**Author's Note:**

> It's gratuitous Kraftwerk smut! What a time to be alive, right? Right.   
> Disclaimer: This is entirely fiction and no harm whatsoever is intended.

After a long day of gently trying to reign in an unusually demanding and insufferable Ralf, Florian was at the end of his rope. They were both prone to perfectionism, but it was possible to take it too far. He had expected the behavior to end by the time it was just the two of them gearing up to leave, but found himself still having to deal with it. Ralf berating Wolfgang for anything he could think of Florian was willing to let slide, at least that had entertainment value, but he was not about to put up with being treated like he wasn't qualified to lock a door.

"Ralf. Wait," Florian said, taking hold of the other man's arm as he bustled past on the way out.

"What?" Ralf snapped at his friend, irascible as he had been the entire day.

"You know I'm usually on your side, but you've been unreasonable today."

Ralf bristled and began to pull his arm away, but the grip tightened. "It's not my fault that no one can do anything right," he groused and tried once again to pull free. "Let go."

“You're ridiculous," said Florian, letting go of Ralf's arm. "Stop being such a brat.”

"Make me," Ralf challenged.

"So that's what this is about. I should have known. Alright."

"What are you going to do?" Ralf asked softly, petulance fading immediately, giving way to gentle eagerness.

"You'll find out tomorrow," Florian assured, content to let Ralf speculate on the next doomed attempt to teach him some humility. “I'll be over to give you a ride. Go home."

 

* * *

 

Not long into the next day, Wolfgang watched as Ralf and Florian left the studio early, Ralf trailing awkwardly behind Florian. “Did any of that seem strange to you?” Wolfgang asked Karl.

“I try not to think about it,” Karl replied dryly.

“He... whimpered... didn't he? Or did I imagine that?”

“Like I said, I try not to think about it. There’s always _something_ ,” Karl shrugged. Odd behavior was so routine that it barely even registered.

“I don't think Ralf got a single thing done. He just stood there looking awkward. Yesterday he wouldn't get off my case for _breathing wrong_ ,” Wolfgang griped.

“Maybe he’s sick. Looked kind of flushed,” Karl dismissed.

“Maybe,” Wolfgang said, narrowing his eyes.

 

* * *

 

After a bumpy ride from the studio, Ralf followed Florian into his flat, closing the door behind him and resting against it.

“You win,” Ralf blurted, still reeling from the mortification of his experience at the studio.

“What’s that?” Florian replied, hanging up his coat.

“You win. I’m sorry,” Ralf said quickly, becoming more frustrated every second Florian spent looking so relaxed.

“I know.”

“Will you take it out then? Please?” Ralf pleaded impatiently.

“If you insist,” Florian deadpanned, pleased by Ralf’s change of attitude. He had been so confident that the day would be a breeze, his smug tone quickly changed on the drive to the studio, a change that was later magnified by having to pretend that nothing was amiss in front of the others.

Ralf let out a sharp sigh of relief and quickly went to work with his belt and pants while making his way to the nearest suitable surface, draping himself over the arm of a large chair, shamelessly exposing himself, too desperate to waste time with modesty. 

“I think you take this more seriously than most professionals, little Ralfie,” Florian commented, running an appreciative hand up one of Ralf’s smooth legs, always amused by Ralf's unerring dedication to their shared hobby.

“Don’t call me that,” Ralf huffed, blushing, flustered by the cutesy inflection on his name but taking pride in the observation, enjoying the special attention. “Come on, take it out,” he urged, groaning raggedly when Florian grabbed the base of the plug, sensitive to the slightest movement after spending most of his day being teased.

“Are you sure you want it out? You really seem to be enjoying this.”

“Please,” Ralf hissed, hips twitching. “It’s been so long,” he added, head bowed to rest on the seat.

“It hasn’t been that long,” Florian said, tugging the base. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Easy for you to say that,” Ralf grumbled, gloved hands gripping the arm of the chair. “And I’m not dramati-ah, keep going,” he panted, feet scrambling for purchase to push his ass up higher.

“You were going to come if you had to stay there much longer, weren’t you?”

“Ja,” Ralf admitted quietly. The thrill of his "punishment" had been enough to keep him on edge and thrumming with excitement the entire time.

“How humiliating that would have been for you,” Florian said casually, raising an eyebrow at Ralf’s response - a little whimper. “That’s the same sound from earlier. That’s embarrassing, too, isn’t it?” he said, punctuating each word with a tug or push on the base of the plug.

Ralf stammered some nonsense agreements, muffled somewhat by having his face buried in the crook of his arm. “I…” he tried, breath catching in his throat, feeling himself unravel, the rhythmic, clinical simulation and embarrassment finally dragging him over the edge. As soon as his untouched cock began drooling, the plug was removed, leaving him whining at the loss and further humiliated by his cock continuing to leak despite the lack of stimulation.

“You're really making a mess of my chair,” Florian complained, setting the plug aside.

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” Ralf asked, exhausted but not yet satisfied, craving closeness above all else.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little bit greedy?”

“Come _on_ ,” he whined, frustrated. “I’ll never do it again, I promise. I'll be _nice_.”

“Never do what again, be an unreasonable brat or ruin my furniture?”

“Both?” Ralf offered.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Florian observed. “It’s very cute, Ralfie,” he teased.

Ralf rolled his eyes, preparing to object to the name, but was stopped before he could begin by the feeling of hands on his ass and a slick cock nudging his hole. He briefly considered still protesting, at least to keep up appearances, but decided to sacrifice a little bit of dignity and let it go. _Just this once,_ he thought, squirming indulgently, pleased to have been given what he wanted.

 

* * *

 

"Wolfgang. Your eyebrows are out of control. Get out of my sight," Ralf groused the following day, and was met with outraged sputtering from his target.

"What? Seriously? Oh, come on. My eyebrows are great," Wolfgang argued, holding his ground. 

"Didn't we just have this discussion, Ralf?" Florian asked, unable to keep himself from smirking. 

"Oh. Right. Get out of my sight, _please_ ," Ralf clarified.

_Karl raises an eyebrow in a Spockish manner. Everyone laughs. Fade to black._

 


End file.
